Détruisez le mal

Chapitre 69

He walked to another dried wooden frame, peeled off a sheet of coarse paper—the kind that would sell for ten dollars in an American stationery store. Can you believe it? Ten dollars. Anyway, that's what they told him, even though he only asked for a hundred.

The little girl had just picked up a piece of paper when the Chinese woman, presumably her mother, reached for it to buy it. The girl didn't say a word, didn't even look at her, as if her mother didn't exist. The girl spotted a parasol made of the same paper, something popular with tourists. The Chinese woman then tried to buy one for her daughter, simply because the girl had glanced at it. After her mother paid, the little girl smiled—though still without looking at her—and I tell you, American kids are so easy to please, and they have so many things to choose from.

The cigar factory owner also mentioned that Americans had visited. He knew they were Americans because none of them smoked, and they seemed to appreciate the lacquered cigar boxes far more than the cigars inside. They watched politely as the female workers made cigars.

At this point, the police stopped questioning and began praising a particularly lovely girl. The girl had a sweet face and cat-like eyes. She took out a record-shaped cigar leaf and skillfully rolled up a mixture of tobacco and woody root, along with a filter made of multiple layers of corn husks.

The shopkeeper racked his brains to recall: A tall man with long hair bought a dozen cigars in exchange for a free cigar box. As he lit one and began to smoke, a Black woman looked utterly dejected. There was also a rather young woman with a small, whirring machine circling around her neck.

The cigar factory owner concluded: These foreigners look very strange.

Several female workers in the silk factory also confirmed that they had seen these foreigners. Their job was to reel silk from silkworm cocoons. They said a Black woman and a pink-haired woman were very curious and asked many strange questions. They asked about their working hours.

"I work as long as there is sunshine," the spinning worker replied, "from dawn to dusk, every day."

"And what about the salary?"

"Two to three hundred dollars a day." — Less than a dollar.

What if they get sick or injured? How much money will they be paid?

"Of course, there's no money on days when you don't work."

They told her, "How stupid these questions are!" The police nodded in agreement.

The second floor of the silk factory was much noisier. It was full of young women, who were weavers and needed the strength to operate the looms. They said the Black woman was amazed by their skill; tourists thought their bodies were almost extensions of the machines.

A young female worker swiftly moved her feet back and forth on the inner and outer pedals of the loom, bending her knees into an arched shape as if in a dance. At the same time, her hands worked in another rhythm, using just the right amount of force to pull a string of fine threads, causing the threading machine to move back and forth.

This work demands an exceptionally high level of concentration and coordination; no man could maintain such a sharp gaze for such an extended period. From dawn till dusk, the female workers could complete a full yard of intricately patterned silk. This silk sold for ten dollars, generating substantial profits for the company.

They told the Black woman that they loved their work; the unchanging routine itself was a source of satisfaction—the tranquility of seeing the same looms and spools every day, the same coworkers, the same wooden walls and high roofs. Only occasionally would raindrops patter against the roof, like the sound of God's fingers—a small, but pleasant disturbance.

One of the female workers told the police: "A short while later, they disappeared, leaving only a strong aura. They must have been taken away by God."

The Road to Heaven (1)

Okay, let me recount the facts—

At 9:30 a.m., my friends finished their tour of the weaving factory. They returned to the dock and prepared to board the small boat.

“Our next stop,” Walter said to everyone, “is my Christmas surprise for you. We may need to go a little further in, but I think you will really enjoy it.”

Everyone loves a "Christmas surprise"—what an exciting combination of syllables! Black Dot and the veteran heard it too, and these Americans accepted the invitation so readily.

A surprise can be anything.

Walter's "surprise" was actually a visit to a school where children were practicing singing "Rudolph and the Red-Nosed Reindeer" in Lanna. He and the teachers there thought it would be a great thing, both for the children and for the foreigners.